


Inhale; Exhale

by masamune11



Series: Once upon a time, in Elibe... [6]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken, Saint Seiya: The Lost Canvas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Past, Crossover FE7/6 setting with hinted FE8 job system, Gen, Marchioness!Sasha, Paladin!Sisyphus, Pure AU, Pure SSLC character insert, Ranger!Regulus, mention of Asmita, mention of Aspros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:05:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3451586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masamune11/pseuds/masamune11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(The wind whispered to him of an impending doom, the air smelled like electricity, and the ground shifted beneath his barren feet and told him of hurdle and speed. Back when he was still with his brother, a child under his shadow, he would have been able to interpret those whispers. But he had cast his own heritage, and nature would never sing again, in a way he understood.</p><p>He was a Sacaean tribesman before, but not anymore.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inhale; Exhale

On some days, long before his promotion as the chief of Ostian Knights, he would have burned with spirit when war came on their door. After enough experience—after many deaths which he had to witness in minor skirmishes between lands—he knew enough to fear the looming disturbance which will tear asunder the lives of many. War never knew honor, and those who were too weak to defend themselves would be crushed—and for every death that she could have prevented, his lady Sasha, grieved harder than any of her knights combined. The last thing he wanted to see of her was her smile clouded with hurt.

(Sasha was the sole heir to Ostian throne and the only person left in this land who was directly descended from King Roland himself. Her mother died in her final labour, for Sasha was the third and last child that she was able to bear, while her gentle father went to depression when he was left behind. At merely five years old, her father passed on, too heartbroken to move on despite his wife's final gift for him. Of course, there were rumors of Tuscana's hands on the death of the late Ostian Marquess, but the whispers hushed down considerably by the time Aspros, one of the his dear friends, took charge as its steward. When she was ready for her ascension, she was barred against once more – a tale better told in another time.

Simply said, the young girl was put through much trials and tribulations; for that she grew to possessed greater heart than any of them.)

Sisyphus took a deep breath and held it, letting the cool air of crisp morning invigorated his mind and washed away the what little tension he had. He proceeded to do his morning ritual—a series of move which was passed down in his family to start their mornings. Sisyphus found them invigorating and unique, Sacaean-heritage aside. Yet as the war loomed at their doorstep, he noticed how strained his lady's smiles had become—how it gripped his psyche, twisting his heart with guilt because there was not much he could do to bear her burden.

The knight exhaled. The sound of chirping birds informed him of the slowly rising sun.

The knight inhaled. The ground rumbled with horse' gallops.

( _The wind whispered to him of an impending doom, the air smelled like electricity, and the ground shifted beneath his barren feet and told him of hurdle and speed_. Back when he was still with his brother, a child under his shadow, he would have been able to interpret those whispers. But he had cast his own heritage, and nature would never sing again, in a way he understood.

He was a Sacaean tribesman before, but not anymore.)

"Uncle Sisyphus!"

He did not have to slow down his morning ritual to know that it was Regulus—his brother's child, his nephew—who had come with his brown steed. The Sacaean garb that he wore was a sight for his sore eyes, though it did not lessen how out of place he was by just being there on the Ostian court.

(He missed his tribe, but there was a reason why he never answered back to the calling of the plains.)

Regulus' frantic breath quickly dispelled any notalgia that graced his mind (why was he in a rush? What happened?) His nephew smelled of steel and ash, and it disturbed Sisyphus how agitated he was for a horse-riding bowman. Sisyphus finally broke his routine, his usually warm brown eyes steeled to face what news his brother had from the plains. "You ride here with haste. Tell me, has something happened?"

There was fear in his nephew's eyes as he choked, "it's father. Bern's soldiers... They suddenly appeared and started questioning our people. I... We..."

The lad however could no longer maintain what little composure he had and eventually fell from his steed. Fortunately, Sisyphus was quick enough to catch him before he kissed the ground. He noticed how the Regulus' form shook in his hold, as his mind processed what little bits of information that the boy brought him—Bern soldiers, questioning (interrogation, perhaps)—and his personal observation.

Regulus rode alone from the borders of Lycia-Sacae to Ostia.

(His brother never let the young heir to ride alone, especially beyond the borders of Sacae. Ilias could be protective of his loved ones, and Sisyphus, being one of the closest people in his life, knew this much.)

"I-I left them," he stuttered, and Sisyphus could then feel the slowly growing weight crushing his shoulder, "F-father forced me to abandon our tribe... it was..."

But Regulus's words stopped there as his uncle pulled him into a hug, his words bringing down more weight to his heavy heart. The smell of ashes still lingered on his garb, and Sisyphus tried to dispel any thoughts that he might have smelled dried blood as well. The young man sobbed in his embrace, so Sisyphus attempted to his best ability to comfort him, despite the growing numbness which started paralyzing his faith.

(Illias is still alive. He could not die.)

* * *

 

Illias,  _The Lion of Sacae_ , was dead.

Regulus confirmed this after he recovered from exhaustion. When he brought this news before Ostian Marchioness, Sisyphus saw his crumbling composure and ushered him to his room. He ignored Regulus' outrageous stare, the young man being ushered away by his colleague Asmita, and steeled his composure. The young lady sitting on the throne looked at him with such heartache that Sisyphus would hold her there and told her  _it is fine_.

(But he would never do that. He was a knight in her service, so his feelings did not matter.)

"This is ill news, yet," she frowned, her countenance filled with confusion, "Why would Bern moves to confront him, of all people? Surely they know fighting against one of the respected figures of Sacae would invite other tribes' wrath, and they still had to bolster their resources against Etruria."

He remained kneeling before his lady, the memory of him and his brother riding across the plains replaying in his mind over and over again. He remembered him whispering what the wind told him, what the sky said, what the ground informed:  _you must go, for it is the will of father sky and mother earth, and bring **it** with you_.

It, being a small yellow stone being safely tucked inside his pouch, was the only item that linked him with what remained of his Sacaean heritage and his only family and the only explanation he could think of why Bern would make their move.

"Because no one will ride to my brother's rescue, my lady," he whispered, "I'm afraid, I have not told milady the whole truth. My brother and I... we are from Djute clans. For decades, we were given the responsibility to look over the bow of the wind itself, Murgleis, until our parents decided to... leave."

"We faced much reprimands from other tribes, claiming that our family should have stayed in the eastern part of the plains instead of wandering in the west. But my brother... he eventually knew the reason of our parents self-exile."

The knight eventually reached for his pouch and procured an item. He showed it, a beautiful yellow round stone that gleamed softly in the throne room despite daylight.

"This stone was a gift from Bramimond himself to our ancestor, before he embarked to the south," he said, "it is the key to open the seal to Murgleis, and my brother entrusted this to me before I left my tribe. My brother and I, we are the last persons to know this secret–and for them to specifically target our tribe... I could not think of any other reason except this: they fear the legendary weapons and seek to conquer them. Perhaps they see them as liabilities to their endeavour."

There was a heavy silence, and Sisyphus still avoided his lady's glance. "...then we shall see that the resting place of Roland remains undisturbed. I shall send word to Marquess of Pherae and see if he could dispatch soldiers there. ...and Sisyphus..."

She sounded so soft despite bearing such authority. It compelled him to look at her angelic, saddened face, "please retire for the day... and please don't cry."

He did not. Cry. She was wrong.

 _"..._ I shall not. Then, I bid you my leave, milady."

God knows how blurred his eyes felt.

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted from [my tumblr](http://rantoffireflies.tumblr.com/post/112299253028/exhale-inhale-fe7-x-sslc-some-hundred-years).


End file.
